Alone
by Hey.Look.Its.Feels
Summary: John wasn't a man who was scared easily, but as he stared at Sherlock Holmes' limp body on the pavement, he had never been more terrified in his life. Sherlock hadn't meant for this to happen, but it did. However, he knew exactly what would happen next. He would end up like he always did- alone.


Sherlock hadn't meant for this to happen- but, it did. John wasn't supposed to know, John wasn't supposed to find out.

This was wrong, all wrong.

This wasn't the plan.

This wasn't how he had fixated this moment in his mind.

This was uncharted territory, and Sherlock was scared.

Yes, Sherlock Holmes was scared.

Because he knew, he knew, exactly what would happen now.

John was going to leave him.

John was going to leave him alone.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

That was what always happened.

.

.

.

John Watson was not a man who was scared easily, but at that moment, he had never been more terrified in his life.

"Sherlock? Sherlock?!" The man on the ground did not respond. "Sherlock, please, you are going to wake up. Now. Stop fooling around. Stop it. You are going to wake up. You always do. Please. Please! Sherlock, please, for me. Wake up for me."

John furiously worked in trying to stop the blood, but it did no good. Red crimson poured out from the wound and didn't cease to stop. The gravel under them was now a dark, thick pool of red.

The sound of sirens was drowned by the sobs escaping Johns lips.

The feel of Sherlock's blood on his hands was enough to make him ill.

The metallic taste that found its way to John's lips force a gag in his mouth.

But the worst thing, the worst thing at that moment was the smell.

It was the smell of death.

.

"Mr. Watson you need to step out of the way."

"No, no he's my friend."

"Mr. Watson," a man grabbed his bicep, and John struggled out of it, forcing himself in a protecting stance above Sherlock.

"John." He turned to see Lestrade standing solemn, and stiffened. "John, you are a doctor. You know that this isn't helping Sherlock. We need to get him to the hospital." John grimaced, but relaxed slightly. He stepped out of the way, and paramedics rushed to the fallen detective's side, placing him on a gurney. John stepped over to the DI, and pointed finger at Sherlock.

"You- you can't help him."

"John-"

"He is already dead."

"We can save him, we can still save him, John."

"It's been eight minutes, Greg. No you can't."

.

.

.

**Thirty Minutes Earlier**

Sherlock stared at the gun.

He needed to hurry.

John would be here any minute.

He placed the gun to his chest, and put his pointer finger on the trigger. He let out a shaky breath, but didn't cry. No, Sherlock Holmes was not a man to cry. Ever. The last time was two years ago, when he faked his death. But even then, those tears weren't real.

John wasn't supposed to be home for another hour. He had come home early.

Sherlock was in his room, and had he door slightly ajar. His sleeve were rolled up, and red thin lines, perfectly symmetrical, littered his forearms. His box was in front of him, including his bottle of pills.

His _opened_ bottle of pills.

.

John had discovered his addiction- his secret.

.

The look on his face, that was the worst. It was the look of utter disappointment. He had seen it all to many times. From Mycroft, mostly. John hated him. John hated what he had become. Sherlock knew it. Sherlock knew exactly what was going through John's mind at that moment. And Sherlock knew what would happen next.

He was going to be alone, again.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

That was what always happened.

.

Now, Sherlock was in an alley, behind Baker Street, and with an emotionless expression on his face.

He placed the gun to his chest, and put his pointer finger on the trigger.

John was coming, he heard the rapid footsteps.

.

There was no time to think now, no time to calculate how he would fall, the speed of which he would lose consciousness, no time at all.

He needed to stop being Sherlock, and start being human.

Human.

Don't think, just do.

.

He pulled the trigger.

.

"SHERLOCK!"  
.

The world became clear in his last moments, he saw John scramble to his side. He saw the tears in John's eyes. John was crying- he was sad. He had disappointed John, again. He always seemed to disappoint people in the end.

.

But now things would be okay.

.

Sherlock Holmes' funeral went as predicted.

Only a select few were allowed to pretend.

It had been private, but the grief was still immaculate.

.

Sherlock Holmes was buried alone.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

.

.

.

Fin.

.

.

**Okay, this is my first Sherlock fic. I know that it is short but I thought of the idea and jotted it down real quick. tell me if I should continue Sherlock fics, please! **


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